


Fragments

by Miss M (missm)



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/pseuds/Miss%20M
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is nine, twelve, fourteen, twenty; she is a little girl and she is a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the following prompt: _We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another; unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made up of layers, cells, constellations._\-- Anais Nin. Thanks to Redsnake05 for the beta!

She has heard people talk about it, she has read about it in books, but it has always seemed strange to her. Now, however, in this split second between two dimensions, it all becomes very clear, as everything comes back to her, in fragments of reality crowding her mind with short, poignant glimpses.

_Time is a construct of the mind._

 

***

 

The explosions waking her up at night only exist in her dreams now, and very rarely. Lucy is not afraid.

She looks after her siblings instead, nagging them when they are too bored to play, distracting them when she suspects they are missing London and their parents. Peter thinks he is the one protecting them, and Lucy lets him think that.

She is the one who makes them play hide-and-seek; she is the one who finds the new, brilliant hiding-place. The smells of dust and old fur tickle her nose as she pulls the wardrobe doors open.

 

***

 

Aslan's fur is soft against her face. Lucy nuzzles into it, her eyes stinging, her body shaking; beside her, Susan is sobbing, clutching her hand.

She is nine years old, and she has never lost anyone dear to her before she came here, to this land of magic and mystery, already heavy with the weight of death.

 

***

 

Being nine years old again should be so easy, because all she is expected to do, is to keep her mouth shut at the right times, and finish her meals, and not soil her clothes. Instead, she feels more trapped than ever.

'They should have seen the banquets of Cair Paravel,' Lucy thinks, when her parents, expecting guests, order her to bed. 'They should have seen me entertain the lords and ladies of Calormen!' And she keeps her head bowed as her eyes sting with hot, angry tears, knowing that everything she used to know, everything she used to do, is now good for nothing.

She falls asleep, dreaming of flickering torchlight, laughing voices and dancing feet, and when she awakes, the music of drums and flutes still linger in her ears, like a promise.

 

***

 

As a Queen, Lucy has promised to rule wisely, judge mildly and fight valiantly. She has asked for the High King's permission to go with him next time he wages war on the giants, and he has granted it, a sign of trust which Lucy is determined not to let down.

She is less prepared for what occurs one night as she is about to go to bed, although their mother spoke to Susan about it when they were still in England, and for one moment, the sight of blood on her fingertips as she slowly raises them fills her with panic.

Not so much for the thing itself - it is natural, after all - but for what it means: she is no more a child, but a woman, one who will live and love and die here.

England has been distant in her memory for years. As she washes herself, slowly and thoroughly, she pictures the faces of her family, of her house and of her friends, and for a moment, she can't help but feel a pang of regret.

 

***

 

The summer of their first reign was uncommonly warm, as if Narnia itself wanted to compensate for the long winter it had endured. Lucy passed several afternoons swimming with naiads in the river, or walking through cool forests, where friendly trees surrounded her.

Now, when Lucy goes for walks in the park with her mother on Sunday afternoons, the London air is grey and chilly, as if the shadow of war is still lingering over the city, prohibiting summer from coming.

She is fourteen, and she knows that there has been no White Witch at fault; the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve brought this over themselves. Her thoughts wander, yet again, to green glades and soft sunshine, and her chest tightens with longing.

 

***

 

Time seems more unreal than ever out here, where the days all blend into a haze of sunshine, fresh breeze and shiny blue sea as the _Dawn Treader_ makes her way to the East.

They sit by the mast, sharing a cup of water, thirsty from the salt air. Caspian's laugh reaches them from the far end of the ship, and she and Edmund look at each other, smiling.

"Were we this happy before?" Lucy asks, and he shakes his head slowly, answering, "We never knew that we were going to leave."

 

***

 

Her siblings do better - or so, at least, it seems. She admires and envies the resolute look in Peter's eyes as he buries himself in his books, and she thinks she saw some of the High King's determination in his expression when he came home to tell them about the scholarship he would be competing for. Susan is already almost as beautiful as she was in Narnia, even clad in grey skirts and jumpers instead of green velvet and blue silk. Their parents talk about bringing her to America.

There are times, however, when she will look at Edmund, and see some of her own feelings reflected upon his face as he gazes hopelessly at his own ink-stained schoolboy hands, and she feels, once again, the old despair clutching at her throat.

 

***

 

When Aslan said that she was too old to return, Lucy had thought she would never be able to bear it. And yet, as she grows older, she finds that she can. Perhaps this was the Lion's wisdom, that she would not be exiled until she had the strength to survive on her own.

Unlike Susan, who returned from the States with new clothes, a new hair cut, a new look in her eyes and a new-found determination upon her features, Lucy refuses to forget. She will take the pain it costs.

 

***

 

She has heard people talk about it, she has read about it in books, but it has always seemed strange to her. Now, however, in this split second between two dimensions, it all becomes very clear.

_Time is a construct of the mind_, Lucy thinks, and then the world explodes, and she is nine, twelve, fourteen, twenty; she is a little girl and she is a woman, Queen Lucy the Valiant...

... and then she is no longer on the train: there is soft, green grass under her feet, and the sky is a clear blue in her eyes, and she has no idea what has happened, but it feels right, like she is home, at last.

And when Lucy raises her eyes to see Aslan stand there before her, more golden and radiant than ever before, she knows that there has never been anything to be afraid of, not for her.


End file.
